


Give a Little

by wynnebat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Falling In Love, fluff and creepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 19:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10315856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: Eurus does some legwork. It takes longer than it should have.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was actually surprised at first by how much I was into this pairing, but then I realized, of course I am. This is exactly my jam. Begins sometime during s4e1. 
> 
> The first part was written for [Femslash Ficlets](http://femslashficlets.dreamwidth.org/) challenge #95 - breath. I ended up continuing it past the comm's word limit, so it's not included in the AO3 collection. 
> 
> General creepiness/manipulation in the beginning because Eurus is Eurus. Light stalking, invasion of privacy (phone), lying, up to the reader when/if Eurus takes down the cameras canonically in Molly's flat. No mind control/violence.

"Is he ever going to love you, do you think?"

Molly spins around, her right hand reaching out for the wall to keep her steady. She hadn't realized anyone was in the morgue with her. It's evening and she's been here for hours, since just after the christening party. Sherlock and the Watsons had joined her for a quick test on a corpse's third toe before dashing off again, and Mike had dropped by to ask after her cat's health, but that's it. And now there's a woman in a lab coat sitting on one of their empty gurneys. She's pretty, a bit older than Molly, with a pink streak in her hair and more bracelets around her wrists than strictly allowed by lab protocol.

"Do you work here?" Molly asks, feeling a little rude. It's not like anyone who doesn't work here would be here at this hour. And the woman _is_ wearing a lab coat.

The woman raises an eyebrow. "Ever since last week. I've been in the lab three times while you were around. You haven't even said hello."

Oh, god. It's been such a busy time, with babysitting and her cat being sick and Sherlock not coming to the morgue nearly as much as he'd used to. "I'm so sorry. Hello. I'm Molly Hooper."

"I know, do keep up. You're the one in love with Sherlock Holmes." Her tone isn't accusing, and her legs are swinging up and down with a light air as she speaks, but the words feel like a cut anyway.

A week in the lab and the woman knows already. Molly's face feels like it's on fire. She's always been too quick to blush. She knows people talk about her— _oh poor Molly, she's still in love with him, kinda creepy at this point, don't you think?_ —but mostly no one brings it up to her face. Except for Sherlock, because he's terrible like that, and John, who tries to be nice about it but really fails. And now someone she doesn't even know.

"I—" Molly bites her lip. "That's none of your business."

"I like making things my business." Up and down her legs swing. "Besides, it's interesting. You're interesting. Much more interesting than lab work."

Molly isn't even sure what to say to that. She's not interesting. "Thank you?"

"You're his friend but also in love with him. Doesn't it get confusing, deciding which Molly to be?"

"I'm still his friend, all the time," Molly says, trying not to say much because it really isn't any of this woman's business but failing utterly. "I'm— I'm just so bad at moving on, you see. I had a couple boyfriends and a fiance, but it goes wrong every time. I guess I'm just stuck."

"You could do worse," the woman says.

"Do you really think so?" Molly asks, and she's not even being sarcastic. It's just, there's not much worse to go when you've been engaged to the man's clone without realizing the resemblance. She even hit on John while Sherlock was dead. It was so silly, but she'd missed Sherlock so much, and John was there, and it turned out that John wasn't interested, of course. She could try something with Sherlock's older brother, she supposes. That would certainly make things even worse.

The woman smiles, widely, and Molly doesn't get the joke. "You could do me."

Molly huffs. Who brings up Sherlock Holmes as a prelude to a pickup line? But she can't help but say, "Are you a criminal mastermind, serial killer, or have old ties to Sherlock?"

"You know what, I don't think I'll tell you. It'll keep the mystery alive for a bit."

Molly wonders if that's a red flag. She doesn't have to wonder about the way her heart beats just a little bit faster at the woman's words. Molly Hooper, red flag. But the woman's pretty and easy to talk to and interested and makes her breath catch a little.

"What's your name?" Molly asks.

The woman reaches out, takes her hand. "I'll tell you after coffee. And sex at your flat. You look like you haven't gotten any in a while and my Christmas gift stopped working a while back."

"I don't put out on the first date," Molly says.

"Would you, with Sherlock?"

"No," Molly lies. Of course she would. She'd do nearly anything for a bit more of his time.

The woman's lip quirks. "You have to really mean it. Lying's no fun otherwise. I'll teach you better over coffee."

She jumps off of the gurney, still holding Molly's hand, and pulls her towards the door. It's too familiar, because they've only just met and she's already just tugging Molly along to wherever she wants her. Reminds her of another person.

"You're coming with me," the woman says, her words almost breezy enough to distract from the fact that she isn't asking.

Molly could easily pull out of her grip. It's not a very strong one, just a curl of the woman's fingers around her wrist, right over her pulse. It might be a little awkward when they see each other at work, but Molly's used to being awkward, and everyone else is used to ignoring her moments. She'd deal.

But it's been so long since she's been wanted for something more than babysitting duty or morgue samples.

"Yes, I'm coming," Molly decides.

She's rewarded by a brilliant smile.

It's beautiful in its own right, but Molly's disappointed in herself, because the smile reminds her so much of Sherlock's. Maybe this is her chance, she thinks, once again. Maybe she'll get over Sherlock and get on with her life and fall in love with someone who actually wants to get coffee with her, rather than asking her to get coffee for him.

She rather doubts it, but the woman seems passionate enough for the sex to be fantastic, at least.

 

*

 

The sex _is_ fantastic. And then the woman vanishes without telling Molly her name and Molly never sees her again, of course. Because that's the usual outcome of things when it comes to Molly Hooper's dating life. At least they hadn't set up a date for the woman to stand her up on.

Molly considers asking around the morgue after the woman, but there are always so many students and aides and new doctors going around that she can't be positive that anyone would know her. And, well, if she does find out the woman's name and finds she'd transferred to a different shift to avoid Molly because the sex was really that bad… Molly would rather this didn't spiral out any more than it already had. She'd liked the woman, that's all.

And there is still the mystery of her name; Molly had guessed a couple things during coffee, tried calling out a couple during sex, which the woman quickly hushed, but during the afterglow, names had been the last thing on her mind.

And that was that. Molly Hooper, back to the spinster life.

It's early morning, and she is walking to the tube station on her way back from work when someone gets into step with her. Molly sees the pink streak out of the corner of her eye and knows who it is before she even turns to look.

"Hi," she says, feeling a little nervous. "I haven't seen you around?"

"No, you haven't," the woman agrees. "I haven't been in the morgue—much—and you're always working. How do you do it? Why do you do it? Aren't you worried your skin is just going to fall off from the smell one day?"

Molly makes a face. "It's not that bad. And besides, I'd like to be head of the department someday."

"Boring," the woman says, not unlike someone else Molly knows. She wonders if they've met. "Are you heading home? You should go sightseeing with me instead. I've been in London for a month and I haven't even seen anything myself."

"I'm exhausted," Molly says, bemused. She isn't sure exactly what this is—a prelude to friendship? Friendship with sex on the side? The woman isn't exactly seducing her, and this doesn't feel quite like an offer of a date. The woman is a bit too breezy, a bit too strangely intense in a way that seems to be directed everywhere around her instead of simply at Molly. But Molly thinks of her home, where she has a warm bed and a fluffy, scratching cat, and very little else. This could be a night shift like any other. Or, "You'll have to bribe me with something."

"I already intend to have sex with you afterwards; your bed is very comfortable, I approve."

"Not exactly."

The woman sighs. "I know. You can call me Eurus, I suppose; there's less than a tenth of a percent chance of that coming back to bite me in the arse."

"Is that your real name?"

"It actually is. You should feel special."

"I know a lot of people's real names, thank you," Molly tells her. But she does. Feel a little special, that is. "Why don't you give your real name out?"

"I don't usual have the chance. And when I do, it gets… complicated."

"And I'm not?"

"You're planning to go visit the sights at six in the morning with a woman who's admitted to shadiness, when you're tired and your feet hurt and your cat scratched you badly last night. You're not complicated."

Maybe that is her problem when it comes to Sherlock; she just isn't complicated or interesting enough for him.

"Oh, boo that, I don't have time for watching you mope. Let's go!"

And she walks away.

After a moment, Molly follows. "Where are we going?"

"One museum, two food trucks, coffee, the London Eye, and the next fun thing we come across. The internet tells me that's the best way to do things."

"I really like the British Museum."

"We'll do that one, too. And I'm going to learn to take a selfie," Eurus says with relish.

Molly learns: Eurus looks beautiful with wind-swept hair, isn't especially fond of fish and chips, prefers medieval and modern art to everything else, has strong options on food, isn't picky about coffee, and doesn't talk about her past. She's a private person, but she's pulled Molly into her sphere, and Molly likes it so much it scares her a little. Later that night, Molly swipes through the photos on her phone and tells herself very seriously that it wasn't a date. Even if it was loads better than any date she's gone on in the past year.

 

*

 

The next time Molly sees her, a couple days later, she's the one to notice Eurus first, and takes the chance to look her fill as she stands in line for coffee. Eurus is sitting and reading a book in the corner of the shop, tucked between a group of medical students with textbooks and a couple that Molly has pegged as professors. It's Molly's favorite coffee shop, though she hadn't thought to mention it to Eurus when they'd discussed their favorite roasts on the not-date. Of course, it's her favorite by way of being the closest coffee shop to work and the one her boss doesn't like, which means it's generally full of Barts employees. They even get an employee discount. It's lucky that Eurus was able to get a table, Molly thinks as she looks around the crowded shop.

Her heart does a stupid little thing as Molly sits down across from Eurus and says, "Hi. Fancy seeing you here."

For a second, she's nervous, because just because they'd had a wonderful time doesn't mean that her company's welcome. But Eurus smiles at her, and now that she's this close Molly can see the flower tucked behind Eurus' ear. Molly smiles at the sight. "It's cute. I like it."

"You think?"

"I think I've seen it somewhere before, though."

"It's a common enough flower. I've never understood the appeal of flowers, to be honest. But they add such a quaint childish innocence to whoever's wearing it. I can't say I ever wore flowers as a child."

Molly tries to picture Eurus as a child. It's surprisingly easy; Eurus' isn't childlike by any measure, but she's energetic, easygoing, and says weird things. She can imagine the cute little thing she must've been twenty-five years ago. "If you had, you would've looked as cute as you do now."

Eurus' smile is a little smug. "Are you free now?"

"I'm only halfway through my shift, sorry," Molly tells her. "And after I think I might be too tired to go out somewhere. It's been a crazy day." More autopsies scheduled than the usual, and not even all for one accident. Just more people than usual had decided—or been decided for—to die. After, she might be tired even for Eurus. Her heart's beating a little too fast as she says it, because what if that means this is it? She can't imagine Eurus has trouble finding people to drag somewhere and have a lot of increasingly kinky sex with. She likes Eurus, strange as that feels. But, plucking up all the strands of courage that she'd once used to ask out Sherlock, "If you'd like to just come to my place for dinner, I can cook for you."

"You're asking me on a date," Eurus surmises, cocking her head slightly. "Interesting."

"Why is it interesting?"

"I haven't been very available for dating until recently. But while I like this whole doing things myself instead of watching others doing it thing, I'm not quite sure I believe in relationships. They seem messy."

"I know what you mean," Molly says, glancing down. God, feelings are terrible sometimes. "But I still believe, you know? I want to be happy with someone one day, like my older sister. She's been married nearly ten years now and it's all my parents can do is tell me about how I should catch up already."

"Well, my older brother has a goldfish, and my oldest brother's getting a cat, but he's a bit slow on the uptake on that one. My parents have been together forty-five years but honestly with the way all their children turned out I'm not sure it was all worth it. For them, anyway. I quite like being alive."

"I think you turned out great."

Eurus pats her cheek. "The reflection you've gotten of me is so biased, but I enjoy it too much to change it now."

"John's wife is a former assassin. Is it worse than that?"

"Mmm. I can't say I'm great with a gun—not enough practice, I'm good but there really are some things you need muscle memory more than actual memory for—but I'm not too bad."

"I've never even shot a gun. You'd think, you know, with me being around Sherlock Holmes for ages, but I've never."

"It's not too complicated. And it's very messy. And not as satisfying as you'd think."

Molly wonders what Eurus has been shooting. Fruit, maybe? She's heard people do that, and it does sound messy. "Not like the American action movies?"

"Not quite." Eurus drains her coffee. "Your break's almost up, I think."

Molly looks down at her watch. "Oh, it is. The line must've been longer than I'd thought." Also, she may have spent a little time watching Eurus like a blushing schoolgirl. Usually, it wouldn't matter so much—the dead can usually wait—but today she really does have to get back to the morgue. "I'll see you tonight?"

"I'll be there," Eurus promises.

On impulse, Molly leans in, and isn't disappointed. This close, she can catch the flower's scent as she kisses Eurus.

 

*

 

Dinner turns to sex, and sex turns to Eurus staying the whole night for the first time, and staying the night turns to Eurus deciding she feels comfortable programming her number into Molly's phone while Molly's asleep.

It's terribly intrusive, since the only way she could've done that was guess her four-digit code or press her finger against the home button while Molly slept, but Molly's heart still flutters a little. She's not a little girl anymore, she's not going to draw hearts around Eurus' name, but she's giddy all throughout the next day.

Eurus vanishes for a week, during which Molly's giddiness fades a little, but eventually she turns back up at the morgue, wearing a lab coat over a cute but not regulation outfit.

"You don't really work at the morgue, do you?" Molly asks, not even accusing. She thinks she might just have gotten used to Eurus' weirdness, and it's not like the woman's destroying evidence or anything. She's just visiting Molly. It's kind of flattering. (It could be said that Molly has bad judgment when it comes to romantic partners. Mostly, it is Molly saying this, without actually trying to change things.)

Eurus shrugged. "Morgue, outside world, same difference, really."

"I guess there's probably in theory more dead bodies outside a morgue than in it," Molly mused.

"Exactly, why limit ourselves?" She looks consideringly down at Mr. Adam Saunders, age 36, most likely accidental poisoning. "I've always wondered what it's like to be dead."

"Are you religious?" Molly asks.

"I think that if there's a higher power, it's certainly letting people do whatever they want while they're on Earth. I can't imagine why that power would start caring what people do in the afterlife, either, if it exists."

It's actually a more interesting answer than Molly had expected; although, working in the morgue does lead to quite a lot of philosophical discussion about death.

"Hopefully Mr. Saunders has a better time up there than down here," Molly says. "Would you like to watch an autopsy?"

She can say without a doubt that that's something she's never asked a romantic partner. And Sherlock, he's more of the type to dash in, take the tools out of her hands, and do it himself.

Eurus pulls up a stool and sits down. "Can you add a couple additions to the autopsy?"

"I'll see what I can do," Molly says, by which she means yes. Somehow, she always means yes when it's Eurus asking the questions. Feelings really are so messy.

She makes the first cut.

"There's no blood running out," Eurus remarks.

"He's been dead for the better part of a day now," Molly says with a shrug. "You're sure you won't pass out? Or, uh, judge? I know this is a little weird."

"I definitely won't judge," Eurus promises, and she's enthusiastic enough through the process that Molly doesn't worry that she's overestimated herself.

Autopsies are not exactly the best spectator sport, mostly messy and bloody and sort of boring, but Eurus asks intelligent, if odd, questions. Molly knows what it's like to have morbid interests—she wouldn't be here if death hadn't fascinated her for ages, and if she didn't have a very hardy constitution of her stomach—so she answers Eurus' questions as best as she can, and doesn't judge, either.

Alright, maybe she does, just a little, when Eurus kisses her when Molly's got streaks of blood running up to her elbows, but it's probably just a competence thing. She enjoys watching Sherlock do his experiments, too.

 

*

 

Life outside of Molly's love life moves on, as it tends to do. Month after month passes. She gets the pay raise she's been angling for for ages at work, Eurus staying the night becomes more of a pattern rather than a surprise, her father has a minor health scare.

Mary dies. Molly deals with dead bodies every day at work, but it's the worst kind of shock when it's someone she knows. She'd not been close friends or anything with Mary, but she'd liked her. More, she'd liked the way Mary had brought happiness into John's life when Sherlock couldn't be there for him. She'd been nice. Complicated, funny, easy to bitch with when Sherlock stomped on their nerves. Now there's just a spiraling John and a young child who's never going to even remember her mother. It makes Molly terribly, unbearably sad.

In bed on a chilly weekend morning, she cuddles closer to Eurus, thankful she has someone in these awful times. Eurus is awake, she knows, by now easily recognizing the signs of Eurus' morning laziness. Molly presses a couple kisses to her neck, watches Eurus' body react.

"I think I'm going to get a dog," Molly says, the words coming out before she'd meant to say them.

It's not a big deal or anything. She's wanted for ages to get a dog that she could spoil rotten and that could bring a little excitement into Mr. Tubbles' life. Not too much excitement, of course—she'd be careful, and bring a small puppy than a very set in its ways older dog, or an older dog that was definitely good with cats. Maybe a nice, floppy-eared one on its way to retirement, who isn't too fussy about sharing space with a cat. Because Mr. Tubbles was here first, before even Molly, since he'd gone missing for a while and returned to find just Molly there, and any dog would have to abide by the cat-set rules of the house. It's been a dream of hers for years now, something she'd think about when she saw cute animal videos online.

But the fact that she's doing it now, well. It's just that dogs need walking and Molly works shifts and the traffic's too cumbersome to go from work and back to work just to walk the dog. But now there's someone else at the apartment more often than not, someone with her own key and favorite space on the couch that she has to fight with the cat for, someone who could in theory walk a dog.

And Eurus is good with Mr. Tubbles; Molly has a whole page in her scrapbook devoted to the two of them and possibly too many pictures on her phone of Eurus swinging the mouse toy by its tail as Mr. Tubbles tries to grab it. Her scrapbook is going to be utterly ruined if they break up; the beginning of this year to now has mostly been one picture of Eurus or Molly and Eurus after another.

"Mrrph," Eurus responds.

 _Would you be willing to walk it while you're here?_ Molly thinks really hard, and doesn't say. Is that too much commitment? Maybe it is, she doesn't know. People say giving someone keys is a big commitment, but that had just been Eurus asking if she can copy Molly's keys and Molly handing her the spare ones to save her the work. After that, Eurus had just been around more often.

"I can hear you thinking," Eurus mutters into Molly's shoulder. "Stop it."

"Can you hear _what_ I'm thinking?"

"I'll walk the stupid dog. Just go back to sleep."

Molly smiles so hard she thinks she might burst. Eurus covers her smile with a hand, but when Molly bites it gently, she finds Eurus isn't as set against waking up as she'd said.

A knock on the door breaks through the moment. Molly waits for the person to leave or leave a flyer on her welcome mat, but instead the person just keeps knocking.

"Ignore it," Eurus mutters uncharitably.

Molly sighs and forces herself to ignore Eurus instead. She throws on a robe and some slippers. It's either a neighbor, a friend, or—through the peephole she sees John with a baby carrier and bag.

John's talking before the door is completely open. "I need some help, _please_."

He deposits the baby carrier and bag onto her doorstep with the air of a man who's a step away from giving up completely. John looks better than he had last week, but still terrible. There's dark circles around his eyes, and Molly may work with the dead, but she knows enough to say it's not good when someone looks that much like a corpse. He's lost weight, too. She can't tell exactly how much because of his baggy sweaters and worn jeans, but enough that it's noticeable.

He'd been like this when Sherlock died, too, she thinks, guiltily. This time, he hasn't gone to her for help. He'd only asked for her help with the baby and vanished off somewhere right afterwards. Sometimes it's the pub, sometimes it seems to be hours-long walks around London. Molly tries, but there's not much she can do. She can't fill Mary's void. She can only take a little of the pain away. In this case, it's taking Rosie for as long as John needs.

"You didn't answer your phone, sorry," John says. "Would you still be able to take her for a couple hours? I know it's short notice, but Harry's having some kind of emergency, and I know if I'm there I won't be able to watch her properly."

"I—" Molly thinks quickly. Eurus has never actually said she dislikes children, and at least this way they can have a little more time together than if Molly went over to John's to take care of Rosie. Hopefully, Eurus wouldn't just decide to leave now that there was a little third person temporarily in the picture. "Sure. I can take her."

It's then that, probably woken up by the commotion, Eurus comes out of Molly's bedroom. She is, of course, wearing only a sheet. (The last time, when Molly'd been signing for a package, she'd just come out naked. Molly had wrangled a promise out of her for at least a sheet next time. Looking at her now, she's not sure it's _that_ much better.)

"Oh," John says, staring at her, wide-eyed. He looks between her and Molly. " _Oh_."

That seems to be about the only thing he can do. Molly sighs deeply. She's out to her coworkers by measure of not hiding a thing when Eurus started showing up one or two of her lunch breaks each week (usually for a quickie, but sometimes just for a meal, in which she airs grievances to Molly about events at work that sound real on the surface but seem strangely veiled, like Eurus is saying one thing but means another, even if the emotion is real). But John hasn't been by much recently, caught up in his life, and Sherlock has been taking cases that don't involve the morgue as much, and his The Science of Deduction blog, where he usually writes about his riding crop experiments and such, hasn't been updated recently. It's a shame; it was always such interesting reading, much more interesting than the official developments in mortuary studies.

"This is Eurus," Molly says, waving a hand. "Eurus, this is John."

"Hello," John says. He's still blinking. "It's nice to meet you. Molly's told me nothing about you despite last coming to babysit a week and a half ago."

"Has she not? That's a pity, because I'm very interesting."

"Yes, yes you are," Molly says, and starts shoving John out the door. She ignores his, "I could track down Mrs. Hudson if you're busy, she's on holiday in the country but I could probably find her," and takes Rosie's carrier in her arms, throwing the baby bag to Eurus.

"It was nice meeting you, Eurus!" John manages to get in before she closes the door behind him.

Perhaps a little dramatically, Molly leans her head back against the door and sighs deeply at the world.

"That was fast," Eurus remarks. "Lingering shame, or…?"

Molly purses her lips. "I'm not ashamed of you." And then she realizes how that came out and says, more seriously this time, "I'm not. You're absolutely wonderful, and I'm pretty sure everyone but John and Sherlock has heard me talking about how wonderful you are. It's just that… Oh, if John knows, then Sherlock will know as soon as they see each other. I know John doesn't want to see Sherlock now, but that's going to change, it always does. They have a spat, one of them realizes he's being an idiot and that Sherlock can't predict the future and was just doing his best, and then they're best friends again. And once they're best friends, Sherlock will come 'round and criticize whoever I'm dating again. I'm sure he'll find a million ways to compare you to himself and tell me it's just transference."

"Everything gets out eventually," Eurus says with a shrug. She looks over at the baby. "I'm not good with children."

"That's alright. Do you want to learn?"

Eurus looks between Molly and the baby. "…no?" There's no sorry at the end, but Molly can almost see it in her expression.

Molly smiles a little. She'd been a little like that, before her sister had started having kids and she'd been forced to figure out the whole Auntie Molly thing. She's not bad at it now, but it had been an adjustment. "That's alright. I'll just put her in her cot and see if she wants to sleep a bit more."

She finds throughout the morning that Eurus really had meant what she'd said; she isn't good with children. Eurus occasionally looks intently at Rosie, and once gave her back a toy she'd thrown off of her baby blanket, but mostly she just leaves Rosie to Molly. Which Molly doesn't mind; it's her that's Rosie's godmother, after all. Eurus is still a stranger to Rosie.

"No parental feelings waking up in you at all?" Molly jokes a couple hours later, glancing at Eurus, who's intently typing on her laptop while Molly plays with the baby.

Eurus' face contorts a bit. "Children are very… small. Vulnerable. I suppose they're important to the survival of our species, but our species will survive just fine—better—if I'm not around any."

Molly gives a small nod. Eurus' lack of enthusiasm is a little disappointing, because Rosie really is the cutest, but not everyone likes children. And not everyone who likes them, like her ex-fiance, is any good with them. "Do you want me to look after her at John's place instead? I could do that. Or I could schedule things for when you're not here."

"It's your apartment," Eurus says, but it's not exactly a no. Finally, she sighs a little. "It's fine. Just don't ask me to help, and I think it'll work out just fine."

"At least you like my cat-child."

"Your cat-child is a menace."

Molly smiles at that, because she's seen Eurus playing Mr. Tubbles. "Could you tell me a bit more? Is this a no to everything, or to keeping an eye on her while I run down to pick up my laundry, or a no to more than two minutes of half-hearted making sure she doesn't eat anything she's not supposed to while I'm taking a shower, or…?"

Eurus doesn't look away from her laptop. "I'm very familiar with myself and my motivations; they are hardly ever good or charitable motivations, and although I understand the concepts of good and bad, I sometimes forget how much importance others place on them. I'm impulsive. I enjoy being able to leave whenever I want. It's different with animals. They're easy, and I don't mind feeding your cat. But babies are complicated, and I'm not a kind enough or patient enough person to give them the sort of care they need for proper development. Or just not dying."

"Alright," Molly says. "I think I can work with that. Mrs. Barinova next door is usually around to give me a hand, anyway. It's alright, Eurus."

"Why are you so kind?" Eurus looks up and looks at Molly, almost like she's seeing through her. "People do bad things. The world revolves. I've always found it strange how people try so hard to be good, when it's almost written in our bones that we'll be bad. We're ever so fallible. Don't you get tired of trying to be a good person? Isn't it tiring?"

"Not really. Do you?"

"Yes. But being with you helps."

"Then that's good enough," Molly says, picking Rosie into her arms when she seems to be having an urge to crawl away. "But since I'm watching the baby, it's on you to make breakfast. Something that _isn't_ burned toast."

 

*

 

Molly's right about John and Sherlock, though she'd rather not be. It's only a couple weeks later that John moves into Baker Street again, bringing Rosie and Molly's personal life with him. Sherlock starts analyzing her at the lab again. John's gotten a bit intense about other people falling in love and being happy after Mary's death, and it looks like Sherlock is using it to snoop. Out of pure self-preservation and not wanting Sherlock to drop by her flat unannounced, Molly invites them to the little birthday celebration she's having. She doesn't usually do much for her birthday, but it'll be nice. Probably.

Molly frets right up until the date of the party. She's still fretting as she waits for the first guests to arrive.

"You don't have to meet him," Molly says, setting out the food she'd made and making room for the dishes the guests will bring. "He's great, but irritating. And so nosy. You won't have a single secret from him."

"I'll be fine. If he gets too annoying, I can pull out the Irene Adler strategy you were telling me about."

"Do _not_ pull out the Irene Adler strategy at my party." Molly lays out another bottle of wine. They're going to need it, she thinks.

Greg arrives first, adding to the party's alcohol supply, and Mike follows him in with a casserole. There's a couple people she's worked with for years, neighbors she's on good terms with, Mrs. Hudson and her new beau, a couple friends turned exes turned friends. When she's not seeing Sherlock in her ex-fiance, he's really quite great. Molly doesn't have all that many friends, and it's bothered her for years, this whole lonely spinster vibe she's had going, but it's changing. As more guests arrive and the flat starts to feel full, Molly almost thinks that John and Sherlock just won't come. Maybe they got distracted by a case and decided Molly's party really isn't worth coming to.

She leaves Eurus for a while, busying herself with organizing the party and the people and popping another tray of appetizers out of the oven and onto the kitchen table. When she looks around again, through the bustle of people, she can't see Eurus anywhere.

But there's voices just outside the front door. It's open just a smidge, and Molly's never minded a bit of eavesdropping.

"Eurus. It means the east wind if I'm not mistaken," is Sherlock's voice. Why he's outside the party instead inside is beyond her. "Strange. My brother used to scare me with something like that; _the east wind is coming, Sherlock_."

"Well, the east wind is here. What do you think?" Oh, Eurus.

"I'm not sure. You're here, and you're trying, and almost everything about you fits into this flat, except for the fact that you wouldn't be trying so hard if you did fit. Warm fuzzy sweaters with kittens playing with yarn, at least five strands of cat hair stuck onto your pants, you look the part, so what's missing?"

"Eyeliner. I've never been able to put it on properly. I blame it on the fact that I haven't had a motherly figure for most of my life. I'm also missing any kind of interest in cheesecake, but my opinions have been discarded as it's Molly's party. We're having chocolate cake next time, though."

"You're lying." But Sherlock doesn't sound displeased. In fact, he sounds rather excited, which is worse.

"Do you expect me to reveal my deep dark secrets on our very first meeting?"

"Most people do. Don't worry, I'll get there soon. For some reason I'm being slow tonight."

A cough, and then John's voice. "Right. Sherlock, that's not why we're here. We're here to be supportive friends. Also, Eurus, Molly's a great person, who works in a morgue. We will help her put you in that morgue if you hurt her."

"Please, if she were the type to kill people who've hurt her, I'd be very long dead."

"You're not helping."

Molly doesn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. Honestly, those two idiots. She opens the door and finally gets a look at all three of them. John's actually carrying flowers and Rosie's carrier, Sherlock has something in Mrs. Hudson's crockery, and Eurus is looking at the both of them like Mr. Tubbles with a new toy.

"Good of you to join the conversation, Molly," Sherlock says. "We're here to congratulate you on falling for someone who's not me."

"Not good," John quickly chimes in.

" _Very_ not good," Eurus adds. "Is this a thing? I like it."

"Alright you two, that's enough," Molly says. "You already scared off my fiance last time, why don't you think of being nice to Eurus as reparation?"

"It wasn't—"

John pushes Sherlock inside the flat before he can say another word. "We'll take all the blame! Thanks for inviting us, Molly. And congrats!"

"I regret inviting them," Molly groans, looking over at Eurus. Her ex-fiance had hated Sherlock and felt absolutely threatened by him. He hadn't exactly been wrong, but, well. At least Eurus doesn't look upset.

Eurus grins. "Don't be. This is going to be fun. Give me a kiss for luck?"

Molly does, and when it turns into a bit more than she'd been expecting, she lingers for a couple moments more. When she leans away and looks back into the flat, Sherlock's looking at them, and there's a hint of a smile across his face.

 

*

 

Later, that moment still lingers in Molly's head. Now that the party's over, Molly realizes she's been scared of that moment for a long while. She'd been so scared to see Eurus and Sherlock side by side and find her feelings for Eurus lacking. She'd been so scared that she hadn't realized it wouldn't happen; it couldn't, not anymore.

She wants to say something, but it feels like her heart is beating too quickly, and she's not sure how to say it.

 _I fell out of love with Sherlock,_ she thinks, and it's something she's tried to do for years, but this is the first time it's rung true.

She doesn't want to pressure Eurus. It's not even been a year yet, though the months are getting up there. There's moments when Molly thinks _we're going too fast_ or _are you ever going to tell me your last name_ or _how do you possibly have no identification papers for me to snoop through_. Ages ago, there'd also been _god I like you so much more than my ex_ and _I wish Sherlock could be more like you_. But that had been at first. She'd thought they were both smart—maybe Eurus wasn't Sherlock-levels smart, or maybe she was because there were just some things that she just knew—but Eurus was just so interested in Molly, while Sherlock wasn't. And then, she'd stopped thinking it, because Sherlock didn't need to change. He could stay exactly the way he was. Molly already has someone better.

"This is good, right?" she says later, in bed, and it's the closest she can get to _I think I'm falling in love with you. Or maybe I already have._

"Mm," Eurus says. Molly thinks she's already fallen asleep until she says, her words a little slurred with sleep, "I like you better than my treats." She says it as she nuzzles against Molly's shoulder. There's a hickey there, one of the many that Eurus likes to leave, and it both hurts and sends a touch of arousal through her.

"You always say things like that and never tell me what you mean," Molly says, without much hope that Eurus will actually explain.

"Yes," Eurus murmurs. "You should make pancakes tomorrow."

Molly huffs lightly, but she's on her way towards sleep, too.

 

*

 

It takes weeks for Molly to be able to adopt a dog. Molly calls up several shelters with questions about whether any of their dogs are good with cats and sets up several visits. She only brings herself first, and occasionally Eurus.

("It's up to you in the end, so I don't need to be there," Eurus had said at first.

"You're more important," Molly had replied, firmly. "And you have veto rights, so you have to let me know what you think once I narrow down my options, alright?")

And then it's meetings between Mr. Tubbles and two possible dogs. He gets along with Marvin the best, a gentle mutt about four times his size. Molly's already half in love with the dog, so she's terribly pleased they get along.

Even Eurus gets caught sneaking him a treat during his first week at Molly's flat, so Molly chalks it all up as a great success.

It adds a new thing to their routine: on Molly's days off, when Eurus doesn't vanish off to wherever she goes off to sometimes, they take long strolls through the nearest parks. Mr. Tubbles had no interest in allowing himself to be leashed, but Martin strides enthusiastically outside with them, sniffing at every little thing. He directs them to the closest park, where they stop and chat with a couple dog owners and leisurely walk around.

They're sitting on a park bench, just enjoying the day, and Molly's bending down and patting Marvin's furry head when Eurus suddenly stops talking.

Her next words are baffling. "Serendipity is a curse. I knew this would happen eventually, but now?"

Molly looks out ahead in the direction Eurus is looking in and squints. "Is that Mycroft? Oh, it is, that's Sherlock's older brother."

"I do wish I could actually plan for everything," Eurus mutters.

He's seen them, that much Molly is sure of, with the way he's striding towards them at a quick pace. Much faster than Mycroft has ever walked toward her, with the exception of any time Sherlock was hurt.

"Hullo, Mycroft, out for a stroll?" Molly calls as he gets closer.

"I was meeting a new informant," Mycroft says, but his eyes are only for Eurus.

It's disconcerting. Molly looks between them. "Oh, this is my girlfriend, Eurus."

Mycroft says nothing.

 _Maybe he hasn't heard?_ Molly thinks. It's not like Sherlock and John are exactly in regular, two-way contact with him. "Ah, it's probably a bit of a surprise after me being interested in Sherlock for so long…"

"No, your bisexuality is perfectly evident to anyone who looks for it. It's your choice in partners I find…" For the first time, Mycroft is at a loss for words.

It's the first time Molly's ever seen him like this, and it's unsettling. She steps closer to Eurus. She's thought, occasionally, that Eurus may have had some kind of trouble in her past. If it's the elder Holmes' kind of trouble, Molly knows she won't be able to do a thing for her, but she can be there, at least. Give a character reference.

"You're going by…?"

"Eurus." It's her first word to Mycroft.

Mycroft repeats her name. "I would've thought you'd go by something different."

"It suits me," Eurus says. There's something tired in her voice.

"This suits you?" Mycroft waves a hand.

Molly's not sure, but she thinks she might be included in that wave.

Eurus gives a small shrug. "I consider it something of a retirement."

"You're not supposed to be on any such retirement."

"You know how such things get. You take your eyes off of them and suddenly they're in London and co-parenting a dog." She hands Marvin's leash to Molly. "Hang on to this. It seems I've got a meeting to go to."

"Are you going to be alright?" Molly asks furtively.

Eurus' lips quirk into a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Most likely. If not, you'll know who to blame."

"Sherlock and I will come after you if you're not. He likes you, even if he won't say."

Mycroft made a small, un-Mycroftish noise in his throat. "You've seen Sherlock?"

"On occasion."

"They met at the party a couple months back," Molly added. "I sent you an invitation, but you didn't even RSVP no."

"Next time, I'll be sure to attend."

They leave, and Molly can't do a single thing except hold onto Marvin and hope.

 

*

 

It takes a week.

Molly waits, impatiently. She starts with biting her nails, a habit she'd dropped as a teenager along with smoking, and then graduates to tugging on her hair, and then starts being rather harsh with the bodies at work. She imagines some of them are Mycroft and finally understands why Sherlock might want to take a riding crop to one.

Sherlock and John are strangely absent the entire time, neither taking calls or even texts. But then it's not as though she's usually privy to their cases; usually she just gets the baby dropped off into her arms without getting a word in edgewise. It's been a week since she's seen Rosie, too. At least her silly smiles would've made the week better.

Each new day without Eurus, Molly has to restrain herself from trying to find her. She knows she neither has the resources or the influence to even find Eurus, let alone get her out. She just has to trust that Mycroft won't be an asshole and lock her in some deep dark corner of the government. (Like he'd tried with another one of her lovers. Oh, the irony. But Eurus isn't Moriarty, no matter what she's done or what Mycroft thinks she's done.)

She's deciding between microwavable shepherd's pie or microwavable mac and cheese, because cooking just for one's become so banal now that she knows there's a second person out there who should be here, when there's a sound outside her door. Molly glances through the peephole before slamming the door open. She doesn't care about the suspicious way the door hit her thin walls or anything at all other than hugging Eurus oh so tightly.

"I missed you so much," Molly says, and her throat is a little hoarse. "Are you alright?"

"I am. It's all fine now. But I haven't been completely truthful with you," Eurus says into Molly's hair.

"I don't care," Molly says, not letting her go.

"I'm Sherlock's sister. Ah, secret sister. I was separated from the family in childhood."

Molly blinks. She doesn't let Eurus go, but her grip loosens a bit. "Does that mean Eurus isn't your real name?"

"Is that really what you're going with?"

"You're in my scrapbook for this year as Eurus. That's a lot of changes I'd need to make if you prefer another name."

Eurus grip on her tightens, just a little. "It's still Eurus. Sherlock just doesn't remember me at all." Her voice has gone all strange.

Molly pats her hair. "Alright. Anything else I should know?"

For a long moment, Eurus says nothing. "I'm not a very good person."

"How not good is not good?"

"Very." Eurus' breath is warm against her skin. "But I have been trying to be better."

"Why?"

"Molly—"

"Tell me why."

"I like the way you look at me. It's been years since anyone looked at me like you do. Like I'm not a psychopath, like I have the choice to be better."

"And if I stop looking at you like that?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't."

"Are you going to hurt me if I do?"

"No. I haven't had a violent thought about you ever since I started caring about you as a person. Or Sherlock. I think I like him, he's funny."

"What about Mycroft?"

"I didn't try to kill him today," Eurus says, like it's progress. "He and Uncle Rudy locked me up almost all my life and I didn't try to kill him."

"Okay," Molly says. "Okay." God, she thinks she's supposed to say that she needs space, that this can't happen again, that she'll leave Eurus if she has a violent outburst, but what she actually says is, "We'll work on it."

Eurus hugs her tighter.

 

*

 

Later, Molly's curled up on the couch with the scrapbook, turned to the page of her birthday party and peering at Sherlock and Eurus standing together. "You don't look all that similar," she says, tilting her head this way and that.

Eurus flops onto the couch, resting her head on Molly's thigh. "I'm just the pretty one, that's all. Though maybe Sherlock comes in a closer second place than I'd like."

Molly sets the scrapbook aside on the coffee table and starts carding her fingers through Eurus' hair. "What happened last week, really?"

"Mycroft had some questions. Quite a lot, and mostly inane. I'm not used to inane questions from him of all people. He is, of course, overconfident when it comes to me, but usually not too stupid." Eurus' eyes fluttered shut. "Ah, right there, good."

Molly continues working that spot on Eurus' scalp, near her ear. "Marvin is going to get jealous." Already, the dog had settled down on the floor next to the couch and is staring balefully up at them. "Was anyone else there?"

"Mm. Mycroft's new lover. I gave her my blessing, not that she asked for it. Sherlock came by. He was all betrayed, but he should be used to betrayal and secrets by this point. Mum and Dad showed up with Sherlock, apparently he felt he needed more leverage. John and I talked gambling for a while, while they fought. He's terrible at it, I'm amazing. I gave him some pointers. Eventually, I told Mycroft he didn't have a chance in hell of keeping me contained now that I'd gotten fully bored of Sherrinford. He could either kill me off or let me go. The rest of the family took offense to the first option." Molly's flutter of fingers apparently doesn't go unnoticed. "Oh, don't worry about it, Mycroft would never actually kill me. He's too sentimental and likes having in-family projects. He'd be bored without me. I was released on a probationary basis, officially, and work part time for Mycroft, who's apparently going to be overseeing my transition into the real world."

"You seem to have transitioned just fine," Molly says, firmly. "And wait, does that mean he's going to start coming by?" If he is, she might have to start stocking a better tea. The one time he'd been here before, on Sherlock business, he'd sniffed at her usual brand.

"I can get you his favorite brand. But hopefully he'll just stay in his office and expect me to be the one to visit him. He doesn't like legwork."

"I hope so," Molly agrees, patting Eurus' hair in a way that's really more to comfort herself. Eurus is here again, she's fine. Er, mostly. "So about the other things…?"

Eurus sighs. "Do you want to know the details or the broad strokes?"

Molly thinks on it for a long while, not feeling any rush. There's a fine line between trust and delusion, and mostly that line is whether you're happy. Really, truly happy. And god, she is. If Eurus is happier without Molly knowing, then she thinks she'd be fine with that. A real sort of fine, not a grudging acceptance.

And maybe a part of her is worried that she won't be able to love Eurus if she knows absolutely everything about her.

Or she'll love her anyway. 

"Tell me whatever you want," Molly finally says. "If you don't want to tell me the details, it's alright. It's your past. I'm your present."

"You really are," Eurus says. Her next words are thoughtful, introspective. "I had a hard time learning empathy as a child. Most children take a while with it, I think. I was so smart that it felt like I knew everything about the world. And I was fascinated by death without understanding the connection between death and humanity. I still don't completely understand it; if everyone but you and my family died, I'd be irritated by the lack of good restaurants, but I think I'd be fine. Uncle Rudy took me away from everyone and everything, and I grew obsessed by the outside world. Especially Sherlock, who'd been my favorite brother. I secretly got out, and did whatever I wanted. Five years of letting my psychosis roam, I suppose you could say. It was nice. And then I put it in a box and settled down. I meant what I said earlier; this feels something like retirement, and I _like_ it. I like it a lot. I like the person I am with you."

"I'm glad. You're the best thing to happen to me this year," Molly tells her, and finally gives in to press a kiss against Eurus' lips. It's a light kiss, the best she can do with the way they're positioned, but she can feel the curl of Eurus' lips against hers.

"I feel the same," Eurus says against her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
